


Miss Ghost America

by AccioInvisibilityCloak



Category: Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Ghost beauty pageant rivals, Post-Canon, ShipwreckedFive, shipwrecked comedy - Freeform, this writer disagrees with Lenore's jabs at Jane Austen fyi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-20 23:23:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16565090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccioInvisibilityCloak/pseuds/AccioInvisibilityCloak
Summary: Lenore the Lady Ghost has this otherworldly beauty pageant in the bag... if she can avoid distraction in the form of the hauntingly beautiful Annabel Lee.





	Miss Ghost America

**Author's Note:**

> This plot bunny was spawned during a chat with belkittykelly on tumblr, who I told I would write this oneshot months ago. Sorry for the wait! Also, this is largely unedited so I could post in time for the Shipwrecked 5 year anniversary event!

*******

They’re here. It’s really happening.

Edgar trembles. H.G. raises an eyebrow. Lenore rolls her eyes. She’s _so_ got this.

“Are you nervous, Lenore?” H.G. asks as they look around the dusty old hall, perfect for haunting. Lenore snorts derisively. Everywhere she looks are more lady ghosts, clad in everything from puffy princess dresses to slacks to rags. Every ghost looking hopefully towards the shimmering silver crown perched on the table at the front of the room.

“This crown has been mine since the day I became spectral!” Lenore says, floating over to it. “Why should this year be any different?”

Edgar grabs her arm. Or, he tries, but his hand slips right through. “It’s different,” he says darkly, “because we get to spend the whole Miss Ghost America pageant staring forlornly at the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“Aw, Edgar,” Lenore says. “That’s so… well, creepy, actually, but it’s the thought that counts… oh.”

Edgar wasn’t talking about Lenore. She knows because she’s followed his gaze to the double doors at the other end of the hall. The palest, most ladylike, delicate ghost has just phased herself through them, and she didn’t even get a single hair out of place from doing it. Lenore should have thought about the pageant before teaching her that.

“Annabel,” H.G. calls, waving to her, and Annabel glides over to join them, beaming.

“Hello, everyone,” she chirps. “Isn’t this wonderful?”

         “This is my turf, Red,” Lenore snaps, desperately grateful that ghosts never have color rising to their cheeks when they’re embarrassed. She might be turning paler, though. That’d be good and ghostly for the pageant at least.

“I’m so glad to have the chance to experience it,” Annabel says, for all the world seeming oblivious to the slight. But her smile turns just a bit false at the corners. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh, it’s great,” Lenore says, trying to smooth her ruffled feathers.

She finds a seat far away from Annabel. Edgar sticks to her side like silent, brooding glue.

A regal ghost lady with a perfect, dark complexion steps up to the front of the room, taking Lenore’s attention away from sulking. “Ladies and gentle ghosts of all persuasions,” she begins. “I’m thrilled to announce that the four-hundredth annual Miss Ghost America Undead Glow Pageant has officially begun!”

*******

            The best part of Miss Ghost America is that it dispenses with the emphasis on beauty. Ghosts can’t change their clothes from the last thing they wore before they crossed over, so there’s no gross swimsuit competition or dress code. Instead, Lenore plans to dazzle all with her charm, smile, and comprehensive knowledge of fashion from the fourteenth to the eighteenth century.

That is, if Annabel Lee and her angelic singing voice don’t beat Lenore to the punch.

Annabel is onstage now for the talent portion, a perfect songbird, captivating the room. Lenore forces herself to stop staring.

“Oh, come on,” H.G. whispers. “You can’t fool us, Lenore.”

“Yes, you’re quite obvious,” Edgar puts in. “You like Annabel, really. And I think she cares for you.”

“What?!” Lenore screeches, earning disapproving looks from several nearby ghosts. She lowers her voice. “I do _not_ like Annabel Lee. She’s painfully sweet and gratingly positive and _way too perfect_.”

Edgar and H.G. exchange a skeptical look.

“Oh, shut up,” Lenore says, trying not to look at the redhead as she takes her bow.

              Annabel gets a sizable round of applause, then goes to sit with Edgar and H.G. while Lenore gets up to give her presentation. She’s been practicing drawing life-size dresses out of ectoplasm to demonstrate the fashion she’s explaining.

It’s going perfectly until she notices Annabel, Edgar, and H.G. whispering to each other in the back of the room. Traitors. Lenore will show them- but then Annabel actually _shushes_ the boys, looks up at Lenore, and smiles.

That smile could melt ice. Lenore nearly knocks the sleeve off her 17th century ectoplasm outfit display trying to act like it doesn’t affect her. And it was so _nice_ of Annabel, stopping the boys from talking through Lenore’s performance… like they’d done during Annabel’s own.

Damn it.

*******

               After the talent portion, H.G. and Edgar coax Lenore to join them for lunch, back at Edgar’s place. Lenore fidgets in her seat, trying not to worry about what happened this morning. Eventually, she gives up, leaves the boys in the parlor and floats into the kitchen to check on the soup she’d pre-prepared. Lenore is just tasting a bit when a knock sounds from the middle of the far wall.

“Come in,” Lenore sighs, expecting H.G., but instead a ghost in a pale green dress phases through the wall, arms crossed nervously over her chest.

“Are you mad at me?” Annabel wants to know. She looks so pathetic, staring up at Lenore through her ginger fringe, and it almost makes Lenore forget her annoyance.

“I’m not _mad_. You’re just so… so… perfect!” Lenore bursts out. “For the first time, I’m not the head ghost in charge, and I don’t know what I’m doing, and you just muddle everything up, Annabel! I can’t even think straight. I don’t know, I just… I’m sorry about earlier. I was afraid.”

“I understand,” Annabel admits. “I mean, being a ghost comes so naturally to you, but I still feel like I don’t know the first thing about the afterlife. I’m jealous of how easily confident you are, and I haven’t forgotten what you did for me when I was… newly dead, I suppose. You gave me a new lease on afterlife. You deserve to win the competition, Lenore. You just… _glow_.”

“No,” Lenore insists. “It should be yours. I mean, your voice, _wow_. Against Jane Austen’s dreary prose? Forget it, you’re so gonna win.”

“If I do, will you be my date to the pageant’s Closing Ball?” Annabel asks, and the impossible blush in her cheeks and the solid feel of her hand taking Lenore’s just defy the laws of Ghost Physics all over the place. Lenore kind of loves it.

“Oh, yeah. We’ll show them who’s Miss Ghost America,” Lenore grins. “You and me, Anna-banana?”

“You and me,” Annabel says, taking Lenore in her arms, who sighs contentedly.

Let the soup go cold, Lenore thinks. This is all the warmth she needs.

*******


End file.
